Scorched by Darkness: Eternal Mates Series Book 18

by Felicity Heaton

  Mackenzie couldn’t hold back the words. “And how much is that?”

  The man paused and she moved to face him. He turned his head to one side, revealing his profile to her, but didn’t look at her.

  “Ten thousand gold coins.”

  With that, he dipped his head and walked away, and she could only stare at his retreating back as he blended with the people coming and going along the busy shopping street.

  Ten thousand gold coins.

  A shiver rolled through her.

  She had been way too low with her estimate. It was ten times as much as he had offered her guild. The things she could do with ten thousand gold coins. Excitement surged through her, a heady rush that made her a little giddy as she began writing lists in her head.

  Mackenzie pulled back on the reins before she got too carried away.

  There were two obstacles between her and all that coin.

  Both of them were dangerous. Both of them were liable to kill her. One of them had to die. The other she could allow to live, but her gut said that wasn’t going to be an option. The elf had let her go and he had meant it when he had said he was looking forward to crossing paths with her again.

  He was going to come after her.

  “What am I going to do?” she muttered, her eyes on the busy street but her focus turned inwards, locked on unravelling the problem she faced.

  She shrugged as she looked at it from several angles, ran through what felt like a thousand scenarios in her head and kept coming to the same conclusion. There was only one thing she could do. She was going to take out the competition.

  The elf had made a fatal mistake in allowing her to live.

  Now it was time he paid for it.

  Chapter 6

  It had been three days since Hartt’s source had informed him that the vampire had returned home. Hartt lingered in a narrow alley in the shadows of two dark stone buildings in a large town in the free realm of Hell, studying the high creamy yellow walls looming on the other side of an expanse of black cobbles that formed a square in front of the complex.

  The stronghold of the First Legion of the Preux Chevaliers.

  If their reputation hadn’t preceded them across the entirety of Hell, the place they called home would have given those who didn’t know the vampire mercenaries the right impression. Hartt had thought he had done well with the décor of the guild, striking the right balance between imposing and awe-inspiring.

  The King of Death had gone one further than he had.

  It wasn’t the fact the thirty-foot-high walls looked like something straight out of Italy, painted in a stunning Tuscan yellow that complemented the exposed sandstone blocks that formed the corners and square towers of each wall. A colour that was a stark contrast to the black lands of this realm and a strangely sunny choice for a vampire. Hartt could only imagine the expense of bringing that much stone from the mortal realm. It looked as if Lord Van der Garde had transported an entire Italian castle to Hell.

  No, what really caught Hartt’s eye and the attention of everyone who passed by, was the nice finishing touch the vampire had added outside those walls, one that was both grim and intriguing.

  A morbid display of power.

  Six rusted metal spikes had been set into black flagstones at a forty-five-degree angle and the vampire had impaled corpses on them, leaving them to dangle high above the ground as a warning to anyone who passed.

  Or an invitation to anyone looking for mercenaries who could get the job done.

  Some of them had rotted too much for him to tell what species they had been, but others were fresh, including a demon who had been placed right near the arched entrance in a twisted, proud display of strength.

  A male from the Devil’s ranks.

  Hartt had crossed paths with demons from the Devil’s domain a few times and had barely come away with his life every time. The demons from that part of the realm were some of the strongest creatures in Hell, up there with fallen angels, and the gods who minded their own business in a realm that bordered both the free one and the elf kingdom.

  A few of the people coming and going across the square paused to admire the dead demon, to marvel at it and speak in hushed whispers about the might of the First Legion. Others braved approaching the gates to speak with the vampire guards on duty, and some of them were allowed entrance to the complex.

  Hartt debated posing as someone who wanted to offer the legion his business, and then decided against it. Vampires would never believe an elf was coming to them for help and he couldn’t really blame them given their history. He could use his powers to alter his appearance, transforming the colour of his irises and rounding his ears, a trick elves used to blend in with mortals, but the vampires would probably scent that he was an elf.

  Worse, they could lure him into the bastion by making him believe they were allowing him an audience with the King of Death and then attack him. Rumour had it that the vampire had employed witches to cast spells upon the sprawling walled complex, ones that stopped people from teleporting into or out of it.

  Hartt didn’t fancy being stuck in a walled fortress with two thousand vampires after his blood.

  His only option was to wait for Lord Van der Garde to leave the safety of his home, something Hartt was beginning to doubt would happen given how long he had been watching it.

  And the fact that two days ago, the vampire had stepped up security, had suddenly dispatched more guards than usual into the streets and around the perimeter wall.

  His gut told him that the vampire knew he was being targeted.

  Mackenzie.

  The foolish female had been too open in her approach in the fae town, had rushed towards the vampire and his mate, obviously heading for them.

  Hartt twisted so his back was to the dark stone wall and sank against it, taking a break. She should have taken more care in her approach, should have used stealth rather than breaking cover. What kind of reckless, crazy female came at a mark like that?

  It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten herself killed long ago.

  His fangs descended at the thought of anyone killing her, at just the idea of her in danger, and he blamed the darkness. It was that seething, corrupted part of him that bared fangs at the notion, because it wanted to kill her. It didn’t want anyone to take its prize.

  He kept telling himself that as she danced into his head, as she distracted him for what felt like the millionth time. He replayed their fight, every second of it, letting it unfurl in his mind to heat his blood as she had that night. Something fierce stirred inside him as he let it play out, as he recalled how graceful she had been, how strong and swift and determined.

  That brief flash of fire in her golden eyes.

  That adorable flattening of her lips whenever he blocked her.

  He stilled as that hit him, his blood suddenly running cold as the heat drained from him. Not adorable. She was irritating, a complication that he didn’t need, and one he was going to have to deal with sooner rather than later. Everything he had learned about her pointed towards her not giving up. She was going to come after the vampire.

  He looked off to his right at the bastion where the male hid, warily eyeing it as the guards changed, forty males exiting it to relieve the ones who patrolled outside the walls. It would be suicide to attempt to take the vampire down on his home turf, surrounded by an entire legion of highly trained vampires.

  Gods, he hoped the female could see that and didn’t do something reckless.

  Something that would get her killed.

  A tight, hot knot formed in his chest as he thought about her attempting to breach the walls, as he imagined her posing as a client to gain entry and launching an attack on the vampire when he met with her.

  She was strong, but he feared she wouldn’t be a match for the King of Death.

  His senses stretched outwards, part of him restless with a need to feel her while the rest hoped he didn’t detect her nearby. That hope faltered as he considere
d the fact that it was no secret that the vampire lived here. She would be coming to this place, whether Hartt liked it or not.

  Maybe he could intercept her before she could reach it.

  Intercept her and do what?

  Kill her?

  Just the thought had that knot in his breast twisting tighter, until it was agonising. No. Not kill her. Maybe he could persuade her to drop the contract? Could offer her whatever coin the client had said he would pay her in exchange for her giving up?

  Hartt tipped his head back, so the rear of his skull hit the stone with a harsh thud.

  “What is wrong with me?” he muttered, aware of the answer to that question, because Harbin had told him precisely what was wrong with him a thousand times in the years they had known each other.

  For an assassin, he had too much heart.

  “What’s wrong with you is that you made a fatal mistake in letting me go.” That honeyed voice soothed the knot in his chest, unravelled it and spread warmth through him even as it caused adrenaline to spike and his body to coil tight.

  His senses sparked, blaring a warning, and he was quick to block the fist that flew at him. He grabbed it and shoved her backwards, and she hit the wall with a grunt. He flicked his eyes open and narrowed them on her.

  “If I give you coin, will you back down?” Those words left his lips of their own volition, that softer part of himself speaking them before he could stop it.

  She glared at him, her golden eyes bright with fire that only blazed hotter as she huffed. “Not a damned chance. You can’t pay me off. I’m completing this contract.”

  He noticed that she didn’t offer to buy him out.

  Either she wanted to kill him or she didn’t have enough coin to cover what the client was going to pay him when he fulfilled his part of the bargain.

  And he would fulfil it.

  If he couldn’t persuade the fiery redhead to back down, he could incapacitate her by injuring her just enough that she would think twice about going after the vampire’s head.

  Incapacitate her? Injure her?

  This wasn’t the first time he’d had competition during a contract, but this was the first time he had considered going easy on his opposition, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t like how weak he was where Mackenzie was concerned, or how he couldn’t get his damned mind off her.

  It was the job.

  The only reason he kept feeling a pull towards her when they were apart was because he wanted to be the one to fulfil this mission and he didn’t want her getting the jump on him. Completing this contract was driving him, filling him with a need to make his guild the winner in this fight, protecting their reputation. That was the only reason he had been so restless, so eager to see her again.

  Her golden eyes flashed against their reddish-brown backdrop as she shoved away from the wall and came at him, her fists flying, her beautiful face a mask of rage that he knew, deep in his soul, wasn’t just about finding him outside the vampire’s compound tonight.

  It was about the night they had met.

  He had mulled it over more than once in their time apart. He blocked her and parried, caught her with a swift right jab in her shoulder that knocked her back against the wall. The fire that had flashed in her eyes. Her final words to him. He had hit a nerve by besting her and allowing her to live, and now she seethed with a need to prove to him that she could beat him.

  To make him pay for belittling her.

  A female with a complex born of some kind of history that no doubt involved people she admired being stronger than her and making her feel weaker than they were, unable to live up to them. Her family, perhaps?

  He blocked another flimsy punch, was on the verge of admonishing her for dealing such a weak, untrained blow when she followed it with a fast uppercut he didn’t see coming. He grunted as her fist slammed into his gut, as pain spread across his left side again and she followed through, driving forwards to slam him into the wall.

  He cursed himself in the elf tongue for falling for her feint.

  Reached down and caught her forearm and twisted hard. His gut twisted too as she cried out, something hot and fierce and unsettling searing him as he released her and she staggered back, clutching her wrist.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  She was the enemy and he had to deal with her.

  So why couldn’t he bring himself to strike a blow that would seriously wound her at the very least? Why was he pulling his punches, just as he had the night they had met?

  Her bright golden eyes leaped to beyond him, towards the square, and he sensed the vampires gathering there, an audience they didn’t need. If the King of Death learned of the fight, he would dispatch his army and they would be done for.

  He lunged for Mackenzie, aiming for her arm, but she raised it and his hand met the burgundy leather of her corset instead, skimmed over it and brushed curves that had heat flaring hot and fast in his veins. She knitted her hands together and bit out a hard battle cry as she brought them down, as she smashed them into his shoulder and knocked him downwards.

  He collided with her stomach, just above the apex of her thighs. The heat of her seared his cheek and he tried not to grab hold of her, but instinct was at the helm and he reached for her in an attempt to stop himself from falling. She slammed into the wall and lost her balance, and before he landed on top of her, he managed to will a teleport.

  Her back hit dirt rather than cobblestones, her grunt loud in his ear as he fell on top of her in the open land just outside the town.

  She was quick to shake off the blow and attack him, pounding his head with her fists until his ears rang and he was forced to distance himself. She flipped onto her feet and came at him, fire raging in her eyes as she kicked off. He crossed his forearms over his face, blocked her knee as it came at him and pushed forwards, shoving her back.

  She disappeared.

  His senses stretched around him, his heart labouring as he waited, sure she would come at him again rather than leave or return to the vampire compound in the centre of the town.

  An electric sizzle leaped down his spine and he turned on his heel, growled through emerging fangs as he blocked her arm and spotted the blade she gripped in her hand.

  A black blade.

  “Must have cost you a pretty penny,” he muttered as he twisted his hand around her arm.

  Before he could disarm her, she was gone again. The darkness surged forwards, his mounting frustration pulling it to the fore as he turned in a slow circle. It whispered to him, goading him into ending her before she could land a blow with her new weapon—a weapon made of the same material as his armour and therefore one that could cut through it.

  She must have gone hunting for the dagger after their first encounter. It wouldn’t surprise him if it had taken her the entire three days to locate someone who had such a blade for sale. Weapons made from the obsidian metal were rare outside the elf kingdom.

  Pain rolled across his back as she slammed into him, white-hot just below his right hip. The scent of his own blood filled the air, thick and heavy, and the darkness pushed harder, demanding he finish her now. She meant to kill him, wasn’t pulling her punches. This was no longer a game. Injuring or incapacitating her was no longer an option.

  This was war.

  Hartt elbowed her in the face. Once. Twice. On the third blow, the scent of her blood joined his and she grunted and staggered backwards. He growled as her dagger pulled free of his flesh and stumbled forwards a few steps before turning on her. He bared his fangs at her as she flexed her fingers around her blade and swiped her free hand across her face, smearing blood across her cheek.

  Blood.

  His senses zeroed in on it, hunger rising as swiftly as the darkness within him to fill him with a black need.

  To taste that precious crimson.

  As that need flooded him, it stirred something primal and powerful, an urge that had his heart labouring and mind blanking, pulled all his focus to that
tempting streak of crimson and the sweet scent of her blood.

  He wanted to blame it on blood loss as warm wetness slid down his hip, but this was nothing like he had ever felt before in the midst of battle when he was injured and in need of blood to speed his healing.

  This was something else.

  A hot, wicked and needy feeling that demanded he surrender to it.

  Gods, he wanted to surrender to it. He wanted to step into Mackenzie, tunnel his fingers into the soft, flame-red waves of her hair and fist it as he took her mouth, as he swept his lips upwards to flick his tongue across the blood that darted over her cheek.

  She came at him on a bellow, jerking him out of his reverie and back to her in time to strike her forearm with his, knocking the thrust of her blade off course. It harmlessly plunged past him, but she continued forwards, barrelled into him and slammed a hard right hook into his nose. Blood burst from it and he swiped his tongue over it as he countered her, bringing his arm up to block hers again. She tossed a disgusted look at him as he dabbed at another bead of blood that reached his lips and backed off, gaining herself some space that he instantly wanted to close.

  If the sight of him tasting his own blood repulsed her, she could offer hers up to satisfy this hunger swelling inside him instead.

  He shut down that thought. He knew better than to bite someone, taking blood directly from the vein, and he definitely knew better than to bite someone he knew nothing about.

  And he did know nothing about her.

  At least nothing vital—like what species she was and why she seemed so protective of that knowledge.

  She came at him again and he blocked her again, almost smiled when she unleashed a frustrated sound and made another rushed attempt on his stomach. Anger was getting the better of her, making her attacks sloppy. He didn’t think she would appreciate him telling her that outright though, so he told her with actions instead, easily blocking her blade and catching her wrist this time.

  He locked his hand tight around it, clamping fingers down onto bones so hard he was surprised they didn’t break, and yanked it up, using the full head in height he had on her to his advantage.